


A Princess's Duties

by DarkPanda



Category: Original Work
Genre: Breeding, Castles, Ceremonies, Creampie, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Older Man/Younger Woman, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Painful Sex, Porn With Plot, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slut Shaming, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Worldbuilding, but not overt, cold mother, dad is nice though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPanda/pseuds/DarkPanda
Summary: As the daughter of the Empress, Gretta has the duty to produce an heir that binds the realms of empire together. No one is allowed to know from which realm the heir was produced, so during a spring ceremony, Gretta must try to conceive an heir with fertile men from each realm--whether any of them want to or not.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Noncon elements/implied incest.
> 
> There are noncon elements because, while there is stated consent, it isn't always the joyous yes of true consent, sometimes by both parties. Incest is implied and possible, but not overt.
> 
> For other content warnings and potentially triggering shit, make sure to **read the tags** before reading each chapter. I'll update the tags as the story progresses.
> 
> In lighter news, heyo! Yet another unapologetic exploration of my breeding kink, this time in an original secondary-world historical setting.
> 
> The first chapter will be worldbuilding. All sex will be F/M, but that includes a trans character, so if that's not your thing, plan on needing to skip a (few) chapter(s).

The great hall was packed full of trestle tables and benches. Each of the other six monarchs in the empire sat at a long table with the close kin, near enough to the high table for Gretta to see the occupants' eyes. More distant relatives were spread throughout the hall, and the three roaring fireplaces and the hanging oil lanterns gave the great hall an almost surreal appearance. It was spring during peace time, so the high thin windows were unshuttered, but they only took out some of the smoke with the heat.

Or maybe the hall just felt surreal because Gretta's mother hadn't insisted on watering her wine as much as usual. Gretta sat at the high table to the right of her mother, the elected Empress, and monarch of Delayon. To Gretta's right was her legal father, the Prince Consort. He had raised her as his daughter but they shared no blood.

That's what the entire ball was about. Renewing not just oaths of fealty, but renewing the blood ties that bound together the empire.

The eyes of the men at the close tables lingered on Gretta in a way that felt almost predatory. They studied Gretta's mid-brown hair, which Shelle had spent extra time brushing glossy smooth and and fixing up into braids. They were probably judging her face, which was more square-jawed than Jenna's, and finding it wanting. Gretta's mid-hued complexion had been marred by trouble with acne in her early teens. At least nothing bad could be judged from her long fine, soft, red-dyed wool tunic, which had been made new, or tall and soft indoor boots of the finest sueded leather. Brigette had taken extra time with her clothing. Gretta felt warm all over and was tried to ignore the stares. 

Gretta's younger sister, Jenna, was seated on their mother's left and received her own looks, even though she wasn't yet old enough to try for an heir. Her eyes were larger than Gretta's, though the same enticing shade of amber-brown against her warm dark skin, and her hair was both thicker and darker, almost black. Gretta's unmarried brothers, two older and one between Gretta and Jenna in age, were all as varied in looks but shared their mother's eyes. They were scattered farther down both ends of the high table, as were Gretta's heart companions, Shelle and Brigette.

The gathered monarchs and their kin weren't here for Jenna. Or anyone else. This was Gretta's ceremony.

She had no appetite for the feast. The kitchens had assembled pies and casseroles, fresh greens from the spring gardens, fish in a variety of preparations, finely dressed poultry, and even a suckling pig. Gretta usually enjoyed the rare treat of sucking pig. Tonight, she couldn't eat even a bite.

Her father touched her elbow and leaned in. "Try to eat something, sweetheart."

She tried because he was her father. Not her biological father, of course. The person who sired her on her mother was a close relation of one of the monarchs presently gathered in the great hall.

That was the whole point, none of them could be sure whose blood she actually was. Because the gods were nearly as strict about breaking oaths to one's kin as they were about spilling the blood of kin, no one could rebel against the Empire without the risk of consigning their entire family to endless nothingness of the void.

And no one would be sure about the blood of Gretta's daughters. Not after a fertile man from each realm had spilled seed inside her during her most fertile week, this blessed first week of spring.

"Please, darling, try to eat something." Gretta's father sounded truly concerned.

Gretta stabbed something on the plate in front of her with her fork and ate it. She couldn't have said what. She studied the men at the nearer tables, one of which would impregnate her before the end of the week, if she was lucky. Most of them were at least a few years older, proven fertile with their wives, though how much older varied with age. Their wives sat with them, staring at Gretta too with everything from hatred to frank appraisal to complete apathy, like she was either a threat to their hearts or some stock horse from which they might get a good deal.

It was an honor to be chosen to to try to sire the next empress, not just for the man but his whole family. Some of the queens at the tables had already chosen the man, others might choose them on the spot or as a prize during the many competitions and games that went with the feasting, this first week of spring.

At least it would all be over by next week. Hopefully.

If she wasn't lucky, they would feast again the next month, and the next, until something took or until midsummer brought the end of the breeding season, whichever came first. If Gretta couldn't become pregnant by the time Jenna reached her majority in three years, Jenna would be given a chance. Not that it would release Gretta from her duty to try after that. Whichever sister became pregnant first would take up the mantle of Empress. But it had only fallen to the second daughter twice in two hundred years.

The Empress whacked her fork against her mug several times. The hollow thuds echoed out into the great hall and were picked up by other thuds as people joined in. These sound wasn't nearly as loud as the pounding of Gretta's heart. When the Empress lifted her hands, the hall fell silent.

"You've renewed your vows, you've drank and you've feasted." Gretta started sidelong at her mother rather than at the sea of eyes, though Gretta's mother never once looked at her. She had already lectured Gretta on her Imperial duties twice today. "Now it is time for the lots."

Which realm got the first chance at Gretta's womb could start a war all on its own. It had in the past, until all the realms had agreed by charter to settle the matter with lots.

Each queen stood up and extolled the virtues of her realm, the fertility of its king and princess, naming each father, brother, son, and nephew present. Of course, not all of them could be offered to Gretta. Any who had bred with the Empress during Gretta's conception were disqualified.

Then the queen's priest presented her lot, a wooden token painted with the device of her realm, each a standard size and weight. Priests from all the realms inspected each lot before it was placed in the jug. For seven realms, it was a lot of droning. Seven because of course Delayon was one of the kingdoms, so some distant cousin would have a chance with Gretta.

Gretta was too nervous to pay attention to the speeches, and she drank a little too much wine before her father put his hand over her mug. Though Gretta felt floaty and groggy, she was too nervous to fall asleep.

Until the queen of Lucyon stood from a table that was nearly full of women. Gretta blinked. How had she not noticed that odd sight?

"My lands have long been ravaged by war with the eastern barbarians." The queen of Lucyon was a pale-eyed, dark-haired woman. Her dusk-hued skin had a rosy undertone. "I have only one living brother, two uncles, and my sons, who are off at war even though the spring snows have just melted. I have with me only my father, Arrald, the least valuable to fight but a man with eight daughters and sons. It has come to light only during this feast that he must be disqualified, as he may have sired princess Gretta."

Angry mutters broke out at some near tables, others were entirely silent. Gretta felt like the bottom of her stomach had dropped out, and she was glad that she hasn't listened to her father about eating more food. Queen Lucyon's father looked nothing like Gretta, though he looked a great deal like Jenna. Even so, maybe this irregularity meant the entire ordeal would be put off for another month.

The Empress leaned across Gretta to confer with her Prince Consort. Her expression was grave. "Clearly a ploy. But what do you think should be done about it?"

Gretta's father leaned in. "Yes. Lucyon's been trying to break away for two generations now. We could put it back a month? Demand the appearances of her sons and brothers?"

"I'm not sure that we could." Gretta's mother pressed her lips tight. "The charter says the consummation begins the first day of spring following the prospective heir's eighteenth birthday. If we break the charter, it'll put us in the wrong as much or more than Lucyon."

"But if Lucyon doesn't participate, and Gretta is pregnant in the first month, they could rebel when she succeeds you."

The Empress grumbled. "Tell me something I don't know."

"My apologies. How likely is it that Arrald of Lucyon is Gretta's sire?"

The Empress's glanced toard the Lucyon table. "It's been twenty years. I honestly can't remember. I think he was toward the end of the draw, but that means little. Brettan looks just like Rallo of Trelyon, but he was seventh. The gods decide these things." The Empress's eyes flicked to Gretta, and she cut off.

The Empress breathed out. She lifted her hand and gestured. Across the hall, the priests seemed to be having their own heated disagreements, but one broke off and hobbled over, leaning heavily on a cane. It was Denneth, priest of Delean, speaker for the goddess of their realm. He had been her grandmother's prince consort. Gretta had known him since she was born.

Denneth stepped around behind the table and lowered his head. "Empress?"

Gretta's mother cut right to the point. "Between breaking a charter and the possibility of incest, which is the greater sin?"

Denneth didn't hesitate. "Breaking a charter. It contains many binding oaths, and oath-breaking is the higher sin."

The Empress nodded a little. Her face was set in stone. She rapped her goblet several times, and the thuds rang in the air with a sense of finality, quieting the low chatter.

"Lucyon is not excused from its duties under the charter. Queen Lucyon's father is accepted at the realm's nominee this month. However, Lucyon shall present a proper nominee next month, if it is necessary. And." 

The Empress plucked Lucyon's token from Denneth's hand, where it had still been clutched, with the distaste of someone picking a tick off a hound. "Lucyon shall lose pride of place in the selection and go last. It shall also pay a penalty for its failure to abide by tradition. While the charter provides only that each realm must offer a man capable of siring an heir, the traditions of these lands frown on incest. Lucyon knows this and shall be penalized as the priests determine appropriate."

The longer Gretta's mother spoke, the paler and more angry the Queen of Lucyon looked. But at the other tables, queens and advisors nodded along. Gretta overheard one man at a nearer table comment to his neighbor, "Neatly blocked."

Of course, that did nothing about the sick feeling in Gretta's stomach. At the end of the week, she would have to sleep with a man who night be her father? He might father her child? She tried to shove those thoughts far aside. They looked nothing alike. And the end of the week was a long time away.

Feeling a little detached from her body, Gretta watched as the green marker was placed beside the jug. The rest of the tokens were stirred around, and Denneth tipped one out. Lifting the token high on his palm, he announced, "The orange token of Thracyon!"

An old queen in a fine robe reached out for a middle-aged man's elbow, which she used to help herself stand. "My brother Gerran was chosen to sire Princess Gretta, as well as Princess Jenna and the princess. I select Sellis, the son of my brother Ferran, to sire a child on Princess Gretta." The old queen turned glared down her pointed nose at the Queen of Lucyon. "As tradition demands more distant kin."

The man who had helped her stand bowed toward the high table, showed his thinning hair. He was old enough to be Gretta's father, at least forty, if not fifty. "I'm prepared to do my service for the Empire."

He didn't sound very enthusiastic, and the loose-haired woman who had been seated beside him had a face carved from stone. Gretta wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted. On the one hand, she wasn't very enthused about the duties at hand either. On the other, it wasn't like she was the worst person to have babies with. She was clean, her heart companions could swear to that. And even if the child wasn't the next Empress, they'd be well taken care of.

The Empress cleared her throat subtly. Feeling a blush rise hot onto her cheeks, Gretta remembered the required response. "I accept this offering from Thracyon."

Duty left her no choice.

As Gretta left the hall, followed but Shelle, Brigette, and Denneth, the room swam a little. The drummers started up, and it sounded like the tables were being cleared for dancing. Gretta's heart pounded faster still, faster than the drums.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gretta has her first joining, and Sellis isn't very considerate about it.

Gretta was barely in the room that had been set aside for the joining before there was a knock on the door. She was still second-floor private room, most of which was taken up by a feather mattress bed with sun-bleached white sheets that smelled faintly of grass. The bedposts looked naked without any hangings, the bundled cloth under it unusual. The room was well-lit by oil lamps, and other than the bed, there was a side table, a water closet, a bench with embroidered yellow cushions, and a small altar to Delean with its familiar spring flowers, candles, and an unpainted egg on a glinting silver stand. The room was cool, the fireplace banked low. Whichever servant was supposed to stoke it was probably caught up in the party downstairs.

The knock came again, firm thuds on the finely fitted wood, communicating that the person seeking entry had permission to be there. Gretta's heart sank. She thought she'd have at least have a moment to breathe, to prepare mentally, maybe to center herself in prayer. But who else would be knocking?

Gretta sighed. "I thought he was supposed to exchange more words with mother and dad."

Shelle spoke softly. "It took us a while to get up the stairs with you dragging your feet."

Brigette, who was nearest the door, frowned over at Denneth. "Should I open it?"

"No, let's all stand here like deaf horses." The old priest stepped past Brigette and opened the door.

Sellis of Thracyon strode into the room from the hallway like a person in a hurry. He looked even older up close, or maybe it was the care-lines etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyed. He was a little paunchy, with thinning light hair, but he had the bone structure of someone who had been handsome when he was Gretta's age.

Sellis was half-way to the carefully prepared bed before he stopped and performed a stiff half-bow to Gretta. "I realize what an honor this is, princess."

There was a small shuffling in the room as Shelle, Brigette, and Denneth went to the bench and settled in. Gretta did her best to ignore them, to not think about their role as observers.

Gretta searched for something that would bind them together more than just duty. Was she really supposed to do something this intimate with someone she had just met? "Shouldn't we say a prayer first?"

Sellis's dark-circled eyes shifted to the altar. Delean wasn't Thracyon's diety, but how different could they be? Praying together would join them in words and gestures. Maybe it would make the rest of the joining feel more natural.

"I'd rather get it over with. Honestly, I feel like I'm cheating on my wife." Sellis spoke like a person used to being obeyed, and Gretta was so far back on her heels that a feather could knock her over. Or maybe that was the wine.

Gretta's mouth went dry. She had hoped for more affection this first time, or at least for someone willing to take it slow and let her get her bearings. Sellis was so impersonal. His stiff stance and refusal to even look at Gretta gave her nothing to work with.

"Get this over with." Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. "Of course. Should I undress, or...?"

Sellis studied Gretta's tunic, not looking at her face. "Do you have braies on under there?"

Gretta bristled. She wasn't some wanton. "Of course."

Sellis jerked his chin toward the bed. "When they're off, then."

Gretta's fingertips felt numb as she gathered up the sides of her tunic and undid the drawstring of her braies. The loose shorts slid down to Gretta's boots, and she floated a little on the soft wave of wine while carefully stepping out of them. Cool air drafted up under her tunic, even with it still belted, leaving her feeling exposed as it touched her nethers.

Was she supposed to take off her boots? There were no carpet or hangings to soften the room. She was about to ask--Shelle, Brigette, anyone but Sellis--but she became distracted.

Sellis had gathered his tunic up and shoved down his braies only enough to pull out a short, flaccid penis. He looked at it while he stroked it. Gretta wanted to slap him and demand he at least look at her.

Whatever he was doing with his hands was working. Gretta looked away, studied the altar. There were little pots of purple and orange paints set out by the egg stand. Gretta couldn't remember whether they were supposed to paint the egg before or after. 

Thinking about it was better then thinking about Sellis stroking himself hard. Trying not to think about _that_ was easier said than done.

"Hands and knees would be best," he said. "The less I have to look at your face...."

Well, she didn't want to watch this old man grunt over her either. And if he wasn't taking off his boots, nor would she.

Drawing her dignity around herself like a cloak, Gretta stepped stiffly to the bed and crawled onto it on her hand and knees. The freshly fluffed down mattress compressed under them with puffs of sun-grass scent. She didn't look over her shoulder at her friends, her priest. It mortified her that they were watching this, that they would watch this brusque man mount her like a dog mounted a bitch. Not even with the courtesy of looking her in the face.

She wished they went there at all. But there could be no question later whether this duty had been satisfactorily performed.

The rope mattress support groaned when Sellis settled his weight onto the bed. He pushed Gretta's tunic up her back, bringing another cold draft to her exposed pussy. His voice was a little rough. "Are you ready?"

No.

"Yes."

The hot press of his cock against her entrance was almost welcome over the cold touch of the room. At least until he tried to shove himself into her tight, unaroused tunnel. The sharp pain made Gretta gasp and brought tears to her eyes. He was hardly between her lips and they gripped him, not to keep him in, but to keep him out. Her body didn't want this, wasn't ready at all, and it was only grudgingly giving ground to this dry intruder. 

She knew that an aroused man should be hard, but he wasn't. It felt like he was resisting as much as she was.

It felt like Gretta was tearing as Sellis tried to force his way in. He pressed against her, his thighs flexing warm against Gretta's legs, but he was getting nowhere.

Sellis grunted with irritation. "Oh, come on."

She felt her face burning almost as hot as her entrance. She would not cry. She wouldn't. This was very definitely not her fault.

A broad hand pressed Gretta's shoulders down until her chin touched the mattress. Sellis grabbed Gretta's curvy hips in his hands, his strong fingers digging in, lifting them a little. His fingers slipped between her folds, rubbing something moist across her entrance. Gretta allowed herself a short breath.

Sellis thrust against Gretta again. Against--and in. This time he forced himself into her despite the unwelcoming tense clench of her entire body. Gretta's tunnel burned as he opened a passage. It felt like she was tearing inside, now, instead of outside. Her body clenched with a suppressed sob, and Sellis grunted like that had pleased him. He pulled out and thrust even deeper. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her right where he wanted her. Gretta tried to keep hold of her scattering dignity as Sellis drove her open inch by inch. 

Gretta had been told this part of the joining could feel good, amazing even. It didn't. It hurt and she didn't want it, she didn't want this cold man to breed her like a stud horse. Even if that was what the whole thing was about.

She would remember how cruel Sellis of Thracyon had been to her when she was Empress, she swore she would.

At least it was getting easier. Sellis was getting harder and Gretta was getting slick. His cock slid inside her instead of tearing, even though Gretta could feel him swelling inside her further still. He let one of her hips go and the places where his fingertips been hurt almost more. 

Sellis leaned his weight more over Gretta, pressing one hand into the mattress by her head. His weight on Gretta's back pinned her in place, and his breath was warm and short on the back of her neck as he rocked her with the force of his thrusts.

He was heavy. She couldn't move, even if there had been somewhere to go. The heavy smells of sex and sweat rested over the smells of sun and spring from the mattress under Gretta's nose.

"Kenna," Sellis mumbled against the back of Gretta's shoulder. "A daughter this time, to carry your name."

The cock inside Gretta still made her ache, and she felt so full. But now that it was hard, it sawed back and forth over a place that was coiling something hot and breathless inside, building some tension that had her panting and pressing back against his weight each time he thrust.

And now that he slid easily in and out and it didn't hurt so bad, the slap of Sellis's sack against Gretta's mound sent thrills of pleasure deep into her. And as he rutted into her at a steady pace, her small breasts dragged back and forth against her tunic, and then her rising nipples chafed painfully. Or did it feel good? It was hard to tell.

"Hah!" Sellis grunted against Gretta's back as he hilted his full length inside her. Gretta gasped in pain as he thrust right past the good place to a deeper place, a place he hadn't opened before, and she cramped inside.

Gretta wouldn't have thought she could stretch another inch. She was so full, but Sellis swelled inside her and her body accommodated him. He groaned and spasmed, and Gretta could feel his hot seed fill her in gushes. 

She could imagine his cum filling her fertile womb. She couldn't feel it take root, but maybe it was. Maybe it would be his child that swelled her stomach and breasts in four months. Or maybe it wouldn't. She had six more men to go, hopefully not all as cruelly impersonal as Sellis of Thracyon.

She was going to remember his name. And she didn't know how she would get him back for this, yet, but she would.

Sellis panted a moment against the back of Gretta's neck and then pulled out with a wet noise. A bit of his seed went with his softening cock, dribbling down the inside of her thigh and cooling rapidly.

Gretta suddenly remembered her heart companions, her friends since childhood, watching in the room. They had just watched a man more than twice her age fuck her. Where the bench was placed, they would see how she gaped open, they would see the dribbling seed. She desperately wanted to close her legs.

Instead, she made herself ask hoarsely, "Is it witnessed that Thracyon's task is complete?"

Shelle sounded as breathless as Gretta felt. "Witnessed."

Brigette's voice vibrated with resentment. "It is witnessed."

Denneth didn't say anything. Gretta's heart froze. If he had nodded off and she had to do this again, she would scream. She turned her head to look at him. 

The old man had stood, and he hobbled over to ther bed. Shocked, Gretta felt his wrinkly hand settle onto her flank. A dry, spindly, impersonal finger probed into Gretta's sore entrance. The primal part of Gretta wished it was more, wanted to clench around it, but it was there for only a single stroke and then gone.

The old priest sniffed his finger before he confirmed. "Witnessed."

Sellis had his braies up and his tunic down and was out the door almost before the echo from Denneth's words had died.  
Gretta ached, not just physically and emotionally, but with an unfulfilled need. She slowly pulled herself together, got off the conjugal bed, grabbed her braies. Her core ached with every motion, but when her legs brushed her privates, she wanted to press a hand between her legs and grind against it.

It was too confusing, too overwhelming.

He hadn't helped paint the egg. Her mind latched onto that as one more way Sellis had been a disappointment.

"I want to go to my room now," Gretta said stiffly.

Denneth peered toward the closed door. "By law, he's entitled to try for the full night."

Gretta's body stiffened. She was going to scream, she was, she could feel it rising in her stomach and up into her throat, no mater that she hadn't had a good scream since before she flowered, no matter what her etiquette tutor would say about a grown woman screaming. She had had _enough_.

Denneth's voice reedy softened. "But it seems unlikely he'll want a second chance. Go back to your room, princess. I'll spend the night here and send for you if he comes back."

"Goodnight, Denneth." Anger almost choked Gretta's voice, but it wouldn't be right to take it out on Denneth. It wasn't his fault.

"Goodnight, princess. Shelle, Brigette."

The sounds of a raucous feast, drums and music and singing and shouting, filtered up from below. Gretta didn't encounter anyone in the dark, gloomy second-floor hallway. Which was fortunate, she realized after she got back to her suite, because she'd walked the entire length of the castle with her braies clenched in her hand and Sellis's cum slowly sliding down the inside of her leg.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gretta struggles with her feelings following the joining, and so does one of Gretta's heart companions.

No one had bothered to stoke the fireplace in Gretta's room, much less light the lamps. It was dark and cold, and not even the ridiculously expensive Thracyon carpet in the small sitting room kept the chill from seeping up through Gretta's boots and into her feet. It didn't help that she's didn't want any reminders from that realm. Her heart was already a chill and distant block. But also felt too warm, burning from both the sex and something else.

"Do we have any water?" Gretta's voice shook slightly. She told herself it was from the cold. Then the hot anger burst through her again, and she wadded up her braies and threw them at the fireplace. They fell short. She stalked over and stood shivering by the banked coals, the embers barely showing through the ashes.

Shelle went to look in the basin. She shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing in their half-bind. "And no wood in the hopper. I'm going to find Carral and drag him up here by the ear."

Gretta wasn't mad at Carral. "We were supposed to have slept in the joining room."

"Which wasn't warm, either."

Gretta conceded that Shelle had a point. "Just don't pull his ear off."

"Of course not," Shelle said tartly. "We'll need it to drag him by later too, I'm sure."

She left the room like a storm front rolling from the ocean. Gretta almost felt bad for Carral. Fireplace drudgery was always among young servant's first duties, and Carral was a bit older than the younger servants. This was probably his first real feast in the castle.

Gretta sighed and retrieved a match stick from the mantle, lighting it from the banked coals and taking it around to the lamps. She paused a moment after she had worked back around to her personal altar to Delean, but she couldn't find it in herself to honestly hope that Sellis's seed would take hold. Besides. If he hadn't bothered to pray about it during the joining, why should Gretta bother now.

When there was enough light to see by, Gretta turned to Brigette, but whatever she had meant to say flew right out of her head.

Brigette stood as stiff as a board, barely in the room. Her arms were crossed tight over her charcoal-grey tunic. With her hair slicked down and bound back severely, it brought out the harsh ridges of her cheekbones and the planes of her cheeks, a lingering gift from some western ancestor. And she was glaring at the flickering light of the nearest lamp so directly that it made her eyes look flat black.

Brigette had been moody for years, and the last few weeks she had seemed harder and more withdrawn than usual. But Gretta had never seen her like this. "Brigette? Are you alright?"

"I could kill him." The fire from the nearest lamp jerked and flickered in Brigette's liquid-dark eyes.

"I've realized it's his first feast." Gretta laid the words out like a peace offering. "I'm sure he just forgot."

"Not him. Sellis." Brigette's hard voice cut the name into glass and shattered it in two hateful syllables.

"Oh." The earlier ceremony came crashing back to Gretta's mind. His weight on her, how he called her by his wife's name as he was filling her. The way the crust of his semen itched on her thigh. How torn she was between wanting to wash it off and not wanting to think about it.

Gretta edged toward Brigette, her voice steady. She hid all of her own anger and resentment, not wanting to provoke Brigette further. "It wasn't too bad. He could have been more kind, but I haven't suffered any permanent harm from it."

Brigette's arms tightened until she looked like she was trying to fold in on herself. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Gretta decided to wait her out. She and Brigette had been heart companions since they were children. Brigette's mother was a countess on the border with Iliyon, and cousin of Gretta's father. Brigette and Gretta were bound with oaths as heart companions in childhood. They had grown together, been tutored together, shared a bed, kept each other pure. They wouldn't separate until after Gretta's duties were complete, when the Empress would settle estates on Brigette and Shelle and release them from their oaths. They might stay at court or they might leave. Gretta hoped they stayed.

Brigette had always had dark moods. If you waited long enough, she'd speak her mind, and you could work through them.

Finally, Brigette's arms loosened a touch and she sighed. "It's pure jealousy. He got to be with you in a way I've always wanted, and I had to watch him do it so poorly. If Shelle hadn't held my arm, I might've punched him after."

Jealous? Brigette wanted her sexually? Gretta was shocked speechless. Her skin tingled, her mind not knowing where to go first. She wanted to say something, but words drifted formless past her mind. Her heart ached at the thought of Brigette having to go through the same thing six more times, even if the next six weren't so rude.

The table lamp's dancing flame flickered in Brigette's eyes. "That's not the worst of it."

Delean save her, what could be worse? 

"I'm a man, Grets. I thought I could keep it from you until after you'd gone through this ordeal, but I can't."

Brigette dropped the words like a scatter of stones. They echoed in the room as if the carpets and wall hangings refused to take them in and soften them.

Gretta blinked hard. It didn't make sense that Bridgette could be a man. Brigette had no facial hair, her voice was the same as ever, she wore no sword. She _was_ the same as ever. "When did you do your meditation?"

"My sick second cousin last year? No such thing. She helped me fake it. I went to the brothers at Verrinost."

"But." _It didn't make sense._ "You're not on tonic or anything. I'd know if you were." 

Brigette's jaw clenched and unclenched. Gretta watched the muscles play over the bones. Finally, Brigette unfolded her arms. She rubbed her hand over her face. "I was a man long before my meditation. It just confirmed what I already knew. Not taking tonic doesn't change what's true."

She still wouldn't look at Gretta, and for a fleeting moment of hysteria, Gretta wondered if Sellis hadn't cursed her somehow by refusing to look at her when they joined.

Then Brigette looked at Gretta sidelong, studying Gretta's face while her own dark eyes remained inscrutable, like a hunter trying not to spook an animal. "I didn't do the confirmation ceremony or start taking tonic because I knew they'd separate us. A masculine woman in your bed, even one who likes women, that would be fine. I could still swear to your purity. But." 

Brigette's stony countenance cracked, revealing a wide chasm of bitterness. "But not a man, not even a man who can't breed. The Empress would release me and replace me. So I'm waiting."

"Oh."

The feelings were too much. They pressed on Gretta's chest, squeezed her heart. She didn't know what to say, couldn't have found the words even if she had known what to say. Even if this had made sense at all, which it didn't. She wanted so badly to cross the room and comfort Brigette, but the enormity of everything stood between them. Gretta wasn't sure how to bridge it without causing Brigette more pain.

Brigette's voice was harsh and clipped, but it didn't conceal her underlying pain. "If you want me to go, I--"

"No!" Gretta took a short, sharp breath. She made her voice softer, but she couldn't hide how desperately she was denying Brigette's request. "No. I can't lose you, Brigette."

"Brigg." There was something hard and vulnerable at the same time in the voice, in the dark eyes reflecting the lamp.

Gretta tried on the name. _Brigg._ And suddenly, in that angle, in that light, it did make sense. There was a jumble of hurt underneath about why Brigg hadn't told her sooner, and confusion underneath about whether she had learned riding and geography with Brigg or Brigette. There was no question, however, about who she was standing with now.

Brigg was no more and no less Brigg than he had been before. If Gretta closed her eyes and opened them, he was a man trying to fit a woman's role. No wonder he had been so stiff and uncomfortable this last year. Longer. He had always said that things were fine, but clearly they hadn't been.

The door swung open and thumped against the wall, making Gretta jump so hard that she nearly flew out of her skin. Shelle breezed through. "I found the cheeky little idiot curled up under the side table with a flagon. He's going to dunk his head in a trough and bring up a full hopper. Until then--"

Shelle cut off as she ran into the wall of tension that stretched across the room between Gretta and Brigg. Shelle's pale eyes flicked back and forth, taking in the tableau. Brigg, arms tightly crossed again, staring grim and broody at a lamp. Gretta, who knew the color was high in her cheeks and that she probably looked somewhere between exasperated and flummoxed.

Shelle sighed. "You told her, didn't you?"

"Yes," Brigg answered curtly.

"All of it?"

"No."

"And she?"

Each of Brigg's wordswere precisely cut from granite. "I don't know. We haven't finished talking."

Shelle's round features took on a stubborn, determined look that Gretta knew very well, and then she started herding Gretta and Brigg toward the interior bedroom door like she was shooing cats. "Here's what we're going to do. You two are going to finish talking. When Carral comes up, I'm going to tell him you've gone to bed and I'll stoke the fire myself."

Shelle herded them into the bedroom and plunked a single lamp on the side table. "Short it out." It was an order.

The door thudded closed, leaving Gretta alone in the dark with Brigg. Her skin was still tingling with shock, but it was starting to fade, and the words were coming back to her. She just want sure what order to say them in. Or what the rest of the ominous 'all of it' would be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brigg tells Gretta the rest of his secret, and Gretta and Brigg totally shift their dynamic.

The suite's bedroom was even colder than the sitting room. The lamp that Shelle had plunked onto the small table by the door flickered like its wick needed to be cut, and the fireplace that the bedroom shared with the sitting room provided only the low red glow of the banked embers Brigg's face was shadows in shadows, the shapes changing around his angular facial bones each time the lamp flickered.

He was looking at her. The red glow from the fireplace glinted in his eyes, like he had brought the banked fire into with him.

It was easier for Gretta to look somewhere else. The furnishings were looming shadows throughout the room. Heavy carpets softened the floor and hangings softened the walls. The bed with its open hangings was a puddle of darkness, the other furniture a series of low black spots.

Brigg crossed to a shadowy bench and sat down, one more shape in the gloom, with only the gleam of eyes to mark him as human.

Gretta knew that she should wait him out, that it would be the best way to get him to talk. But worry shivered inside her, and she needed to know. She took once step toward him, stopped. "Brigg. What's the rest of it?"

"I'm in love with you. That's the other part Shelle knows."

Another piece slid into place. Brigg had slept with his back against Gretta all winter, like he was angry with her. Or like he didn't want to give himself away by touching her.

She loved him too, just not in the way he meant it. Like a woman loves her heart companions. But he wasn't a heart companion any more. She loved him like... like it was confusing.

Thick anxiety left her mouth was dry and tasting like sour wine. That he loved her was only the first part. He was still tight and closed off to him, like he was dragging the shadows to him. The fire went out of his eyes.

Gretta flinched at a thud, the wooden echo of someone taking off a boot and placing it under the bench. It was a long wait until the next thud. She tried to herd her thoughts into order, not getting very far. She was so worried. That was all she could think about.

"I'm leaving," said the darkness. "I can't stand to watch these other men fuck you, knowing you can't be mine. So I'm leaving after you get through this and I swear it's all complete. That's the rest of it."

Gretta had spent her entire life standing on two supports, and one was tearing away. She was suddenly off balance, tottering on the edge of a horrible void, darker than the room.

"You can't leave." Gretta's voice broke, she was breaking inside. She spoke with no filter between her thoughts and words. "I couldn't bear it."

"I can't stand to stay."

He had said that before, with something else. He couldn't watch and know she couldn't be his. It was a strand of rope on the edge of a precipice, and Gretta grabbed at it. "What if I _was_ yours?"

"What?" Uncertainty. A crack in the wall of shadowed darkness that was Brigg.

It was the only crack Gretta needed. There was a chance. He wasn't set. Gretta took another step toward the shadows that hid Brigg. "I said, what if I was yours? I don't belong to these men who are fucking me, you know."

Silence. Gretta pressed into it, and Brigg's face appeared in the gloom, grey on black as Gretta's eyes adjusted. "You said you love me. My duties to the Empire are part of me. So do you love me or do you just love some idea of me, some person who doesn't exist?"

"You." His voice was low and tortured. "But you don't know what you're offering, Grets."

It didn't matter. Gretta crossed her arms over her chest. "If you think I'm making the wrong choice, just tell me why."

The shadow swelled upward. Brigg loomed out of the darkness, and then he was on Gretta, pressed against her chest. She would have stumbled backward if he hadn't pulled her in close. One of his hands went into her hair, hair he had so carefully prepared earlier that day, hair that Sellis had barely mussed during his brief and lackluster performance.

Brigg's fingers twisted in it, bringing sharp pain as he pulled Gretta's head back and forced Gretta to look at him. The lantern danced in his liquid-dark eyes. They were on fire, surrounded by pools of shadow. "You don't want to see what kind of man I am."

Her hair, her posture, it hurt. But she didn't pull away. Being held like this, so authoritatively, it was like finding something she had never known she wanted. The fire of arousal that Sellis had built and then abandoned suddenly roared up like Brigg had poured oil on it. Gretta pressed against Brigg. "I do."

Brigg studied her face for a moment. Then he pulled her back by the hair and pushed her, stumbling, toward the bed. "Undess." 

There was nothing yielding in his voice. Gretta's clit throbbed hard.

As she bent to fumble with her boots, she was profoundly aware of every inch of her body. Her skin tingled, her face was hot. Her hard, chafed nipples rubbed uncomfortably against her tunic. More than anything, she was aware of the craving ache in her core, the deep soreness under a blanket of unmet need.

While Gretta fumbled her belt, Brigg carefully undid his, shucked out of his tunic, and placed them on the bench. He left his braies on. She had seen him naked many, many times before, but not like this. The low flickers from the lamp shined gold on muscles kept toned with riding and archery, highlighted red from the coals. But more so, his gestures were so intensely controlled that they were sensual. She got ther impression that if he hadn't been holding himself so tightly, he would have pounced on her. 

But he didn't, because he was in complete control of himself, while Gretta wanted to do so many things at once that she did all of them badly. Arms shaking more from anticipation than the chill of the room, she struggled out of her long tunic and threw it on the floor.

Brigg's voice was as carefully controlled as his gestures had been. "Pick that up. Take it over to the bed and sit on it." 

What? But Gretta bent again, acutely aware of how her unrestrained breasts swayed, the kiss of cold air on her wet slit. She could feel Brigg's eyes following her, drinking her in.

Gretta's eyes had adjusted to the low light, and she could make out the edge of the bed, its hangings open. She tossed her tunic down and settled on it. The soft fabric was still warm from her body, and it fit itself to the ample curves of her ass and brushed tantalizingly against her folds.

Brigg stepped in and pushed Gretta on the chest. "Lie back. Spread your legs."

Oh, fuck. Gretta's legs shot apart fast, and this time the cold draft on her pussy was a promise.

Brigg's knee settled on the bed at Gretta's crotch, close enough for her to feel the heat radiate off it but not close enough to touch her where she ached to be touched. He bent forward over her but didn't rest his weight on her. Instead, he studied her face.

"Look at you," he said, a bit of huskiness betraying his controlled gesture. "Flushed, breathing hard. Spread open like a harlot."

Brigg slid his hand over Gretta's chest. He felt her breast up casually, almost a perfect handful in his fingers, callused at the fingertips from hunting. His fingers brushed the sides of her breast, then gave her peaked niple an experimental pinch. Pure pleasure shot down and throbbed in Gretta's core. Her eyes slammed closed on their own, as if to cut off everything but the sensation. She moaned as she arched her back up, pressing her into his hand. 

Brigg caressed Gretta's breast gently. "Ask for what you want."

"Please," whispered Gretta. She ached for him to touch her, needed him to touch her. She tried to coax him in with her hands, pulling on his back and shoulders, but he was completely unyielding.

"Gretta."

Gretta's eyes shot open.

Brigg was studying her face. The predatory look in his eyes stoked the flame inside Gretta to new heights. She pressed her breast against his hand with a small, needy noise, but his fingers withdrew. "Not until you ask me for what you want."

Oh. "I want you to get me off, Brigg. Please." 

Without warning, Brigg's fingers raked through Gretta's folds, brushing either side of her clit. That touch alone almost sent Gretta over the edge. Her hips bucked upward, and she made a desperate noise, clutching his back, but it was too fleeting.

"Don't come," Brigg chided her. "Not with that idiot's seed still inside you."

Gretta nodded a little. Brigg lifted a single brow at her, waiting. She could feel herself blushing, or maybe it was just that her skin was hot all over. "I won't come."

"Until I say you can."

Gretta was about to combust. "Until you say I can."

Brigg'a fingers dove into Gretta's sore cunt. His fingernails scraped along the bottom, then his fingers curled and stroked along the top, singing along deep, delicious places. Gretta strained and trembled with the effort to not buck up against him, to not let herself dive into the deep pleasure promised by fire he'd put inside her, that just kept roaring higher with everything he did. She pressed up against him, clutching at him even though feeling his chest pressed against hers wasn't helping her not come.

She felt him wipe his fingers on her tunic after they withdrew, like the act had dirtied him. No. It was Sellis's seed he was getting rid of, she realized, but then his fingers dove in for more and she couldn't think of anything but trying not to give in to the pleasure.

Brigg stroked his fingers inside Gretta was slow savor three more times. Three times, Gretta thought she would come but only barely managed to not. Her entire body shook with the effort to contain herself, and sweat slicked her chest and thighs despite the cool room. If she couldn't release soon, she just might die.

"Clean enough," Briggs said in a heavy voice. He pulled away. 

He was leaving? Gretta's eyes blinked open. 

Brigg was studying her splayed-out body with his predator eyes. "Hands and knees. I'm going to fuck you like that worm of a man should have but didn't."

Oh _fuck_. Could words make a woman come? Maybe. But he hadn't said she could even if they could have.

Gretta scrambled over onto her hands and knees. Her feet dangled off the side of the bed. She found herself not just bracing there, but dropping her shoulders, tilting up her hips. Presenting her sopping cunt to Brigg and begging him with her body to fuck her.

"Good," he said softly, and his approval sent a thrill of pleasure through Gretta. His hand stroked up Gretta's ass, making her shiver. "Just like that."

His hand stroked down her flank and around toward her stomach while the fingertips of his other hand teased her entrance. Gretta tensed and relaxed in shivering, shuddering efforts to keep her word. She was so close. She needed more.

"Please!" She hadn't meant it before, not like she did now.

"Much better," Brigg said. "Now you may come."

Before she could process his permission, three fingers slammed home in Gretta's needy cunt, all the way to the knuckles, and his fingertips flicked Gretta's aching nub. She came hard, convulsing around his fingers, her entire body shuddering as fire licked through her. She screamed into the mattress, then had no breath at all.

She was dimly aware that Brigg continued to fuck her, slamming his fingers in and raking them on the withdrawal grin the greedy clenching of Gretta's cunt, sparking sore spots with pleasue. Every time his fingers drove home, Gretta pulsed again. She lost herself in the ebb and flow of an orgasm that seemed to go on forever.

When Gretta came back to herself, she was still rocking with Brigg's insistent penetration. The flicks against her clit were almost too much to bear.

"Stop," she begged breathlessly.

His hands withdrew all at once. Gretta took in a gasping breath, then shook her head a little. "I didn't mean...."

"You didn't?" For the first time, there was cautious uncertainty in Brigg's voice.

Gretta hadn't meant to hurt him, or to take him away from whatever he was getting out of this. She shook her head, then realized even through her pleasure-addled haze that that might not be enough. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't really mean it."

Brigg's voice was low and thick. "Never tell me to stop unless you _mean_ it. Because I will, and I'll worry that I've actually hurt you. Do you understand?"

Shame warred with the intense after-effects of Gretta's orgasm. She wanted to squirm away and bury herself under the bed. "I understand."

There was a space of silence. Gretta's body tingled in the aftereffects of pleasure, and she prayed that she hadn't completely ruined everything. If this was how awful and unsure he'd felt when she told him to stop, she'd never say it lightly again.

There was a steadying breath from the darkness, and then Brigg was back. His hand caressed the curve of Gretta's ass, which was still presented to him. "Are you mine?" 

There was no question that Gretta belonged to this man. She had craved this from Sellis before she even knew what she wanted. Someone to put her in place. No, someone she loved to give her a place where she didn't have to be in control, where she could set the princess aside.

"Yes."

Brigg's fingers slammed into Gretta's cunt, and he flicked Gretta's overly sensitive clit. Her back arched as she cried out harshly and twisted the sheets. He shifted, pressing his weight on her back as he fucked her, owning her with his body while he ground against. 

When Gretta came again, it was because he whispered in her ear that she should. And they finished when he was done, not a moment before.

***

When Shelle cracked the bedroom door and slipped in, Gretta was sprawled against Brigg's chest, still trembling. They had gravitated to the center of the bed, and with the same solid attention as when he had worked Gretta up, Brigg had soothed her down with pets, with nuzzles of his cheek into her wild hair, with whispered promises that he wasn't going anywhere.

"I take it you worked it out?" Shelle's voice was impish and delighted. She knew. Of course she knew, she would have heard.

"Yes," Brigg said, his voice vibrating with contentment like a well-pleased cat.

"Good." Shelle stripped off her tunic. "Now scrunch over. I want to sleep, and we all have a long day tomorrow."

Gretta and Brigg shifted, though Gretta didn't let him go. When Shelle came to bed in a nightshirt, she curled up against Gretta's back as if they had always slept like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully my proofing pass caught all the errors because wow I'm tired suddenly, but wanted to get this posted.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gretta wakes up next to Brigg, who wonders if he took advantage of her the previous evening.

Gretta woke up in her usual position sandwiched between Shelle and Brigg, but she experienced a moment of sleepy confusion at facing the wrong way. She had been sleeping back-to-back with Brigg for most of the year, but now she was curled up against him with the wrong arm numb, and Shelle was tucked in against Gretta's back. The down covers pressed over them all like a warm and comforting hand.

Then it all came back to her, and she wondered if it had really happened. Someone had opened the curtains, stoked the fire, and set everyone's day tunics and boots on the warming racks. It smelled like there would be a bit of leftover something rom the previous night's feast in the tray by the fire in the sitting room, if they got up and got dressed. With cheerful dawn light streaming in the unshuttered windows, and the smells of a post-feast morning in the room, the dark and desperate sex of the prior evening felt like a wine dream.

She cautiously stretched, trying to test the limits of her stiff muscles and the twinges of soreness deep inside without waking anyone.

Brigg's fingers brushed over hip. He whispered into her sleep-wild hair, "I was wondering when you'd wake up."

"Is it that late?" Gretta whispered back.

"No. I had just hoped to talk before we all were up and around. Last night...." He trailed off, and Gretta could feel the tense way he was holding himself, despite the gentle smoothing of his fingertips.

Gretta nuzzled her cheek against Brigg's chest, prepared to wait him out.

"I'm wondering if I took advantage of you when you were in a sensitive position." It was so strange to Gretta, that Brigg seemed to need to feel his way through the words, when he was normally so confident and had so few words to present. "There you were, after your first time at joining, and here I was, throwing a fit when I should have been supporting you. And then yes, you agreed. To keep me from leaving. But I have to wonder if you really meant it, or if I manipulated you into it."

Gretta didn't answer right away. She could feel the tension in his body, and she wanted to ease it, but he had a point. Had she really meant it the night before, when she said she would be his? Or had it all been a part of that mood, the darkness, the wine, and how Sellis had left her wanting? She poked and prodded at how her heart felt. 

Eventually, Gretta whispered, "I did mean it. It felt right at the time. And it still feels right, now. I'm just not sure how we should act, I suppose. Going forward. I don't want to end up hurting you."

It was Brigg's turn to stay silent a while. Gretta gave him the same time that he had given her, trying to dwell in the slow stroking of her hip and the background noises of the low fire and Shell's even breathing. Trying not to let herself slide toward the panic place that wanted her to worry about what she would do if he left anyway.

"We'll have to act the same way we always do, in public. As for the joinings, I'll be alright." He sounded a little guilty. "I enjoyed it, actually, in the end. Watching that idiot fumble around was agonizing. But claiming you properly made it worth it."

Gretta shivered, and not from cold. She struggled to keep her voice quiet and even. "I'll try to keep that in mind tonight."

"I'll let you know if you I truly can't stand it." Brigg murmured. Then he dug his fingertips in Gretta's hip, possessive and a little painful, and her breath caught in as the throbbing ache in her core ticked toward something else.

"I have ears, you know." Shelle's grumpy mutter made Gretta blush all the way to her toes.

"Sorry," Gretta mumbled, and pressed her face to Brigg's chest. At the same time, Brigg sighed and said, "I'll try not to rub it in."

Shelle pulled away from Gretta, leaving icy fingers of spring morning air sliding down Gretta's back. Her voice was half a yawn to start. "I'm not jealous, I'm sleepy. You were fun to practice with, Brigg, but you know I have my eyes on that cute girl in the kitchen."

Gretta blinked against Brigg, flummoxed. Her heart companions had been in a relationship, or at least having sex, and she hadn't known? When had they found the time? Gretta slept in the middle!

Brigg murmured, "What would your mother say about that kitchen girl?"

There was a rustle as Shelle broke free from the covers. "That she's beneath my station." Shelle was cheerful as ever, and from the sounds of it, she was pulling on clothes. "But lucky for all of us, my mother isn't here, and I just want to fuck the kitchen girl, not take her home. Anyway! I'm going to the garderobe. And I want a _normal_ morning when I get back."

Gretta didn't peel her face off of Brigg's chest until the door thumped closed. Then she squinted up at him. "Shelle?"

Brigg shrugged his narrow shoulders. He didn't look the least bit embarrased. "She's fun. And we both hate needlework."

At Gretta's continued silence, Brigg's tone shifted serious. "She doesn't hold a candle to you. And she prefers women, so we had to end it."

"It isn't that, or not just that, it's just. You and Shelle?" They were as alike as winter and summer.

Brigg's hand slid up Gretta's side, caressing her curves. "We can talk about it later, if you want. But if we're still in bed when she gets back, she's liable to dump the morning's tea on us."

Brigg released Gretta all at once and slid out from under the covers. She didn't want to let him go, but he was right that they shouldn't irritate Shelle, so she admired his rear as he hustled to the warming rack to pull on his day clothes. Like so many other things had fallen into place, the bandeau that he wore even when they weren't riding had a new context this morning. It wasn't that his chest, which was small to begin with, needed extra support. It furthered the figure that he liked to present.

She watched his tunic fall, covering his very fine ass and hanging down past his knees. He sat on the boot bench and had pulled on his stockings and boots before he seemed to notice that Gretta was still wrapped up in the covers.

"Tea." It was a warning.

"I'm sure you'll cover for me."

"Hmm." He went into the sitting room. 

Gretta sighed and pulled the downy-warm covers around herself. Her tunic and boots were so far away. And it really was going to be a long day. The main hope getting her through would be that her joining partner wouldn't keep her too late, so that she could get some more time alone with Brigg and wake up next morning in just the same way.


End file.
